


Chill

by DickBaggins



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fear, Fear Play, M/M, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 05:04:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8831554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DickBaggins/pseuds/DickBaggins
Summary: Benny knows what Sam needs is the same thing he's afraid of.





	

**Author's Note:**

> [This was a commission. Want one? ](http://rainsoakedsam.tumblr.com/commissions)

Sam barely notices the names of the bars anymore. Dean picks. They all sound ridiculous: The Hound and the Tooth (maybe chosen ironically), the Crow's Nest (pirate themed) and tonight, the Melon Patch.

Seriously.

The deeper south, the stranger stuff seems.

It's the same darkness as any dive though, dim lit and cigarette miasma, the kind of place where no one looks up when the brothers Winchester stride through the door.

Well, except one person.

Sam didn't think 'meeting up with a friend' meant Benny Lafitte, but he turns slow from the end of the bar and salutes them with a beer bottle clutched in his thick fingers. Sam hangs back, watches Dean approach all bowlegged and gregarious. They share that bond that only war buddies forge together and Sam dances on the outside.

He never thought he'd see his brother shaking hands with a vampire. It's grotesque and unsettling, digging a deep pit in his stomach before he's even said hello.

“Think this guy gets taller every time I see 'im,” Benny says before Sam's even moved towards him. There's absolutely no malice in it; Benny's hand is stuck out and his eyes are bright blue, clear and amiable and Sam still feels a cold prickle of fear ice his skin, ripple a chill down his back.

He takes Benny's hand with the very real knowledge that, if he wanted to, the vampire could rip out his throat. Possibly with his bare hands.

But he doesn't.

Sam can't shake the nervous edge to his heartbeat, can't shake it the whole night. Dean picks up some stacked trailer trash girl and Sam's alone in a booth for a few minutes, picking the label off his beer. Local brand. It doesn't taste half-bad either. Maybe he'll get tanked.

He actually jumps when Benny slides into the booth opposite him; the vampire disappeared for a few minutes and in the comfortable lull of Dean doing his thing, Sam forgot he was there, completely.

And he's stealth-silent of course.

Benny's got another round for two and a pleasant little smile but Sam's heart still pounds hard in his chest, the leftover adrenaline coursing through him.

“You actually scared of me, Sam Winchester?” Benny asks. It doesn't sound mean or threatening. It's just a question.

Sam huffs out a quick breath and shakes his head, reaching for the fresh beer and concentrating on that, on the coolness against his palm. “No, of course not.”

“Uh huh,” Benny drawls and drinks and confusingly, Sam can't not stare at how his lips curve against the bottle. He knows what that mouth has done, what it's capable of. “Y'know I can actually hear your heartbeat, right?”

_Shit_.

Sam swallows hard and tries to regulate his pulse.

“An' it's thumpin' like a little baby bird's. Now, I know you hunt monsters for a living, so I'm just a bit confused.”

“Makes two of us,” Sam grumbles.

Benny chuckles low and deep, barely heard. “You can't decide if you wanna kiss me or kill me, ain't that right?”

Sam just stares at him and thinks it over and, okay, Benny's got age and experience on him. Wouldn't even be the first monster he's had _relations_ with. But he'd never been so _scared_ at the same time.

“C'mon with me,” Benny says, smooth. He's already standing up.

Sam hesitates, watches the outstretched fingers and then fuck it, he's up too. He takes them and they're cold and he nearly flinches away, a gasp sticking in his throat.

Sam follows Benny to his truck, parked behind the bar. He doesn't get a word out, doesn't form a thought before the vampire launches forward and mashes him against the side of the cab. He's fucking strong, certainly stronger than Sam.

There's no war between fear and arousal, like Sam thought there might be; it's the same animal somehow, it's all gut-wrenching and reeling. He melts like butter against Benny's compact body, against that terrifying strength and those big-big hands.

Benny kisses him hard and Sam feels his jaw shift – it's subtle but unmistakable. He pulls back and Benny's fangs glint under the yellowish streetlight and his thick thigh presses between Sam's legs and he nearly creams in his fucking jeans.

“Lucky for you, I know how to play nice with my food,” Benny croons.

For a break-neck, hard-edged second, Sam thinks he might end up crumpled bleeding out in the parking lot, sees it in his mind's eye and a shuddering whine escapes his throat.

“There's that baby bird pulse again,” Benny growls, scrapes his teeth against Sam's neck and flattens a palm against his cheek to keep his head turned away, to keep his skin bared. “Oh Sam, I am gonna tear you up so good, inside and out.”

Sam swallows, his throat tense and tight, his heart pounding so fast, the night's exploding in stars all around him. He sputters out, “Please yes?” and flushes red right away, his cheeks hot even while cool sweat drips down his back and makes him shiver. He has to close his eyes against the spinning, the sped-up world in front of him. It doesn't make it any better.

“Atta boy,” Benny says, a finger sliding hard against Sam's face, his thumb plucking at his bottom lip. He's so close and he's still just a chill, just a monster with filthy whispers in the dark. “Do a real good job and maybe I'll keep you around some, alright? Understand?”

Sam nods quick, too fast and his knees give out, slam him hard on the concrete with a grunt but god help him, he knows what to do.

 


End file.
